A Joke About Loser 20-Year-Olds and Teenagers
by eyesocketsandsuits
Summary: [ PruIta Oneshots ] "We're building a God damned greenhouse." Feliciano looked up from his sketchbook and blinked once or twice. I don't think he heard me. "What?"
1. A Joke About 20-Year-Olds and Teenagers

**Anonymous said:** PruIta and winter gardening?

* * *

"We're building a fucking greenhouse."

Feliciano looked up from his sketchbook and blinked once or twice. I don't think he heard me. "What?"

I turned away from the window. "Look, I've been seeing you mope around the house and everything. I'm sorry Germany—however fucking awesome—doesn't have the climate to support gardening in the winter. But!"

I marched across the room. I offered by hands to Feliciano, and he took them. I tugged him up and led him back to the window, and I tapped against the glass, fingers shaking because he was grinning at me.

"We're going to build a giant greenhouse right there. And you're going to garden in it."

Feliciano looked from the empty ass yard to me. His eyes did that thing they always did, half shut like he was half in a dream. "Really?"

You bet your sweet ass, Feliciano.

I would have said that, but once he opens his mouth he thinks of ten other things to say and needs to say them all before he forgets. Or, at least that's what he told me.

"How big is it going to be?"

Large enough to rival any fucking garden in Italy.

"How does it stay warm even though there's snow everywhere?"

Okay, I don't really—

"Are you sure you can build it even though it's going to snow soon?"

Shit, is it supposed to snow soon—

"Do you have wood?"

Sort of?

"What do you put around the outside of a greenhouse?"

I sort of just looked at him, tried to keep a smile on my face. But he was already running ahead, picturing flowers and tomatoes and whatever you grow in a garden.

What the fuck _do_ you put around the outside of a greenhouse? I wanted to say plastic, but—

"Thank you, Gilbert."

I looked back at him, and I suddenly realized how close we were standing, and I laughed but something caught in my throat so I ended up making this weird wheezing noise but damn it I was committed so I turned the laugh/wheeze into a cough.

"Yeah, no problem," I finally said after I caught my breath.

Alright, I'm not stupid. I sort-of built a treehouse, once. I don't think a greenhouse can be that much different. Hell, it'll be easier, because it's on the ground.

So, I started out marking how big the greenhouse would be with wooden pegs.

First step is always the hardest.

"Is that how big it's going to be?" Feliciano bounced around the pegs as I measured. "What do you think I should plant first? Do you think it should just be vegetables or fruit, too?"

"Fruit. Hops." I grinned.

"Hard apple cider?" He smiled back. "What type of wood are you using?"

"I know a guy."

Feliciano made a face, his eyebrow dipping down, his smile a little lopsided. "You know a guy? What sort of guy?"

"He, uh… Well, uh—" Holy shit, get your shit together. "Well, I'm going to ask him for some wood. He tends to have weird shit like that lying around. You know."

Feliciano nodded. "Is it Ivan? Ludwig told me about Ivan, and he said I should stay away because he's not right in the head, or well, that's what he made it sound like, probably because he has piles of wood lying around."

What the fuck. When the hell was Ludwig even home? I hardly ever saw the kid. And when does Ludwig take any interest in the weirdos around town?

To warn Feliciano away from them. Figures—now there's no way he'll come with me to Braginski's house to get the wood.

And he freaking didn't, that's the uncool part. I asked and he sort of looked away and shrugged and said he was cold and hungry—which he always was—and how he had to study. So I dragged my sorry ass to my tiny car and I did get wood from Braginski.

Took me five trips in my tiny car to get it all back to the house. And by that point, Feliciano had told Ludwig.

"Gilbert."

I kept hammering; this thing wasn't going to build itself.

"Gilbert, you're not building a greenhouse. I don't think you even know how. You're missing a foundation."

Kid thinks he knows everything, and Feliciano is looking between him and me. And I'm starting to feel like a fucking jackass because fuck, I did forget some sort of foundation, and I promised Feliciano a good greenhouse.

"I'm going to build the best greenhouse," I corrected. "It's going to be the Mona Lisa of greenhouses. It's going to have a fountain."

Ludwig crossed his arms.

"Not a fountain, because I haven't learned how to do outdoor plumbing yet. But I'm building a greenhouse."

Ludwig sighed the you're-literally-useless-remember-the-treehouse sigh. "Remember the treehouse?"

Ha. "No, see, a greenhouse is easier. First off…" I gestured to the flat piece of land. "Flat land. Way easier than a giant, hundred-year tree. Second, it's for Feliciano."

"Eh," Feliciano said.

Oh, no.

"Feliciano," I said, turning my attention to him. "Feliciano, remember: Apple cider."

"Well, uh, it's just that I told Ludwig about the greenhouse, and he said that it would probably take too long to build because of the snow coming, and he said that we could just get a couple of pots and a space heater and set up a couple of pots by the window. Because I'm only here for a couple of months before I visit home."

Oh, Ludwig had definitely talked with him. I looked down at my hammer, and then I looked back at Feliciano, and then Ludwig.

"I sold my soul for this wood."

Ludwig sighed another sigh through his nose and walked away.

It really sucked.

So, after Ludwig went to bed at eight, like he always did, I got drunk. It wasn't a good drunk, though, it was one of those ones where all that bad stuff you didn't want to think about is all you _can_ think about.

I wanted to build that damn greenhouse, and I wanted Feliciano to help me, and I wanted to help plant things with him and I wanted him there with me, close and our hands brushing, and God damn, he was like a little sun.

And then I thought about Feliciano in the greenhouse with only his pajamas—which was only a tank top until Ludwig demanded he put on pants—in the greenhouse and he was smiling at me and I am drunk, drunk, drunk.

"Gilbert?"

The whisper startled me and I nearly threw my beer across the room. "Feliciano?" Feliciano was wearing pants and I was a little disappointed. "What're you…?"

Feliciano crept from the stairs and sat next to me. I couldn't see his face in the dark, and my cheeks flushed with the idea of him being so close and I was only in my underwear, for God's sake.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, for a number of things. "I really did wanna' build you'a greenhouse."

"Oh, that's okay! We can probably plant more stuff sooner with Ludwig's idea. Can I ask you why you're really drunk?"

Feliciano hadn't showered, and I could smell his deodorant and the smell of something cooked a long time ago and toothpaste.

"I dunno'," I rasped.

We sat there in silence. My mouth was dry, and Feliciano hummed to himself.

And then Feliciano's hand was on my arm, sliding down toward my hand. He squeezed my fingers.

"Ludwig said maybe I can come over—well, I can do more than a year abroad, maybe, we're going to look into it, but if I _do_ end up coming back, but I was thinking that we could build the greenhouse then, when I just get back, to get ready for winter."

His hand was warm in mine, and my tongue was too big for my mouth. "Yeah," I mumbled.

Feliciano squeezed my fingers again. "Good night, Gilbert."

Another squeeze, and he hopped up from the couch and padded away, and my arm still tingled and my hand was cold and I ached for him to come back and talk and touch.


	2. cov·et

**I'm pining trash.**

* * *

"Prussia!"

Prussia jolted up, slamming his laptop shut. "Venez—Italy!" Prussia jumped up, grinning like a manic despite himself. "What are you doing here?"

Veneziano shrugged, holding a bottle of wine and another bottle of something amazing. "I want to drink with you! Germany has a meeting tomorrow, and it's vacation for me while Romano looks over some stuff, so!" He waved the bottles. "You and me?"

Prussia looked around the basement, threw the blanket he had been wrapped in to the corner. "Right, yeah, should we grab—should I grab glasses or just drink from the bottle?"

Veneziano collapsed on the couch and popped the cork on the wine. "Hm, let me think…" He laughed, taking a quick sip. "Sit down, you silly. What were you looking at on your computer?"

Prussia grabbed the bottle and took a long drink. "Nothing."

Veneziano threw his legs over Prussia's lap. "Oh, come on! Tell me. Come on."

Prussia took another drink. "Do you want to watch something on the television?"

Veneziano mock-pouted, lip sticking out. "Prussia, Gilbert, come on now, don't be like that! I hardly ever see you anymore, when was the last time you even came to the meetings, I've missed you!" Veneziano traded bottles. "Hm…" He grabbed the laptop.

"Italy—"

"What's your password?" Veneziano leaned over the laptop, screen making his eyes shine with the light. "Were you watching porn?" he whispered.

Prussia felt the breath leave his lungs.

Veneziano laughed. "Well, the cat's out of the bag now! Come on, I want to see if your tastes are anything like Germany's."

Prussia took a long drink of the tequila. "Nope." He grinned, and he prayed Veneziano couldn't see the falter.

Veneziano shrugged. "Alright, fine, you won't let me see your porn, fine." Veneziano straddled the bottle in between is legs. "Have you seen Germany's collection? He has some fucked up shit."

Prussia shook his head. "I can honestly say I have never, not ever, wanted to see what my little brother is into."

"Want me to tell you?" Veneziano grinned.

Prussia spluttered on the drink. "Italy—"

"He likes tying me up."

Prussia stared at Veneziano, unable to look anywhere else. "Ah," he said, more a guttural noise than anything else.

Veneziano laughed. "Why, what are you in to? Same thing? More whips? More ballgags!"

Prussia honestly didn't know what half the shit Veneziano was saying even _were_. But Veneziano was looking at him, eyes half-lidded, giggling to himself, legs still over his lap. Prussia swallowed.

Quickly, now, what was considered—

"Well?"

"Dildos!" Prussia blurted.

Veneziano blinked at him. "Oh? On you or the person you're fucking?"

Prussia blinked back. "Uh."

Veneziano nodded. "Hey, Gilbert, while we're on the subject, who _do_ you get it on with now? I don't think Hungary, in fact I think you two just like punching each other and if there are no…" Veneziano gestured at Prussia's crotch. "Involved, it's not getting it on. So…"

Prussia drank.

"Is it no one?"

"I don't remember their names." Prussia tried a laugh, the noise sounding painful in his lungs. " _That's_ how many people I bang, Italy. Five last week, swear to God. No man, woman, or—" Gilbert faltered.

Veneziano nodded. " _Are_ you into guys? I've always wondered with Austria—"

"Hey now!" Prussia's voice was louder than he meant it; he had been going for playful, ended up sounding panicked, mad—embarrassed.

Veneziano drew back, legs sliding off Prussia's lap. "Hey, there's no need to yell." Veneziano drank more wine. "Just a conversation."

"Fuck, shit." Prussia ran a hand through his hair. "Hey, I'm sorry."

Veneziano shrugged. "Don't want you being mad at me, Gilbert."

"I'm not. Veneziano, I'm not." Prussia started to reach out, withdrew his hand. "Hey. Want to watch a bad sci-fi movie? I have one about crazy tentacles for dicks—"

Immediately, the smile crashed back across Veneziano's face. " _What_!"

Prussia grinned, threw an arm around the back of the couch. "Fuck yeah! Tentacle dicks! Aliens who come down and… Uh…"

Veneziano swallowed his next gulp of wine funny, coughing, spluttering, laughing. "Would it be fucking?"

"Squicking?"

Veneziano laughed. "What?"

"Like." Prussia waved his hands through the air, trying to demonstrate what he was trying to say. "That would be the noise they would make, see? Squick, squick—"

Veneziano slapped at his shoulder. "Stop!" he gasped.

Prussia nodded, "Squick, squick."

"Wow, do you think that's…" Veneziano shook his head. "I've never even thought about what it would be like having a tentacle for a dick. Do you think you could give yourself, like, a blowjob?"

Prussia made a face. "That would be the last thing I would do with a tentacle dick."

"What? What would you do?"

Prussia looked around, then pointed. "Look, see that remote? I'd have to stand up, walk over to the remote, bend down, pick it up with my _hands_. Fucking pleb thing to do, Italy. But…" Prussia gestured at his crotch. "I'd only have to walk over there and my dick would do the rest."

Veneziano's lips squished together—a duckface. "You think it would be that long?"

Prussia raised an eyebrow. Well, he tried, but he ended up raising both eyebrows. "You think my tentacle dick _wouldn't_ be?"

"Veneziano?"

Prussia leapt off the couch, rubbing his palms on his pants. Germany squinted into the gloom, halfway down the stairs.

"Is he down here?"

Veneziano waved the bottle, swinging his legs around. "Hey! He joins us, Gilbert! Come here!" Veneziano reached out with his free hand, fingers flexing and extending. "Come spend time with me."

Germany _thunk_ ed down a few more stairs. "I have to go to sleep, Vene."

"Mm, not yet. Come, Gilbert and I were about to watch a movie." Veneziano craned his neck and smiled at Prussia. "Something bad and with science and dicks, no?"

Prussia felt his cheeks burning, mouth dry. He felt like he had been caught—be he had done nothing. Fuck, _Veneziano_ was the one who came down here in the first place! But still, Veneziano was looking at him, spilling wine on the carpet.

Prussia cleared his voice. "We—" His voice cracked regardless. "We were trying to decide what to watch, and there's this sci-fi with aliens who impregnate people. It's stupid," he muttered. Prussia's palms were sweaty still.

Germany sighed, ran a hand through his hair, slicked it back. "Veneziano—"

"Ludwig," Veneziano said back in the same tone.

Germany walked over to the couch and took the wine bottle, placed it on Prussia's laptop, made Prussia glare at the alcohol. That laptop was fucking expensive.

Germany grabbed Veneziano and threw him over his shoulder. Veneziano burst into giggles, slapping at Germany's ass.

"Prussia, help—" Veneziano fell back into laughter, hands reaching out halfheartedly for Prussia.

Germany let out a gruff laugh, grabbing Veneziano's thigh and manhandling him into a more comfortable position. "Sorry, Prussia. I'm taking him to bed. I thought he had already went—"

Prussia grunted. "'S fine."

"Night," Germany called, marching up the stairs.

Prussia grabbed the wine off his computer, was tempted hurl it across the room. But instead he dug under the couch until he found the cork and slid it into the bottle. He grabbed the blanket and curled back onto the couch, grabbed his computer.

His fingers hovered over the keys.

The snap as it closed.

Prussia found the tequila and drank. And drank. And drank.

 **…**

Prussia kicked his legs out, scrambling up. His head pounded, bang, bang, bang, and he rolled off the couch, nearly tripped and fell on the bottle near his feet. He dragged himself up the stairs, edging forward with his toes, careful not to step on any dogs.

The refrigerator light was a screwdriver to his eyeballs. He squinted, rummaged around until he found a juice. He ripped open the top with his teeth, too tipsy still to function properly and put the straw in.

Silence.

Prussia drank the juice.

Silence.

He padded through the house, footsteps sounding very loud, feet sticking to the wood. One of the dogs looked up at him as he passed, and Prussia felt like a creep in his own God damned house.

Up the next flight of stairs.

Prussia swallowed thickly, edging along. The bedroom door was open a crack. Prussia placed a soft hand on the wood, pushing it open, ears strained for the slightest creak, half hoping it would come.

Germany had fallen asleep with the bedside lamp on. Prussia stared, made sure he was asleep—only then did he look to the other side of the bed.

Veneziano was sprawled, covers everywhere except over him. The way the light fell left him mostly in shadow, but Prussia could just make out…

Prussia ripped his eyes away, mouth dry, shame, shame prickling across his skin, cheeks flushed.

Walk away.

And Prussia did, slipped back down the flight of stairs. He took a deep breath, knees shaky. He grabbed another juice box. Walked back to the basement. He collapsed onto the couch, drank the juice, took another shot of tequila. Another drink of juice.

Only then did he grab his laptop.

Only then could he log on and close out Germany's vacation pictures, close out the forced selfies, the distant picture of Veneziano, knee-deep in water, bathing suit gloriously short.


End file.
